Breathe Me
by elisclare
Summary: This is where it starts./TWOSHOT.


**A/N: **You can thank my good friend Zoey (degrassiheavenxo on tumblr) for having a hot Eclare dream and inspiring me to write this. It's a future fic, and is also, I'll admit, pretty OOC on Clare's part. I think. I don't know, and I don't really care. This is just what…flowed out. And I don't question what flows out because things do so very rarely.

Enjoy!

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I've only read about this in romance novels, really. A woman meets a long lost love somewhere random, somewhere small and secluded, and as soon as their eyes lock – they're right back where they started whenever they parted. No matter how long they've been spent apart, there's an undeniable force pulling them together and in the blink of an eye, they're swept away again.

And I'd never admit it, but I've read the adult romance novels, too – I know where those things start, and where they end, and I've always wondered if any of them were inspired by true stories.

All I know, though, is that if I ever decide to write one, mine will be. Because four years after Eli Goldsworthy left me during his freshman year at college, four years after one of the worst days of my life, and four years and two terrible, short term boyfriends later, I ran into him at a small coffee shop in downtown Toronto. I couldn't even begin to describe to you the plethora of emotions that took me over as we began talking, catching up, beating around the bush. I can't convey what he did to me – he looked older, more mature – perhaps it was the haircut. There was a more profound masculinity in his jaw structure, and all around, he looked healthy and slim and toned – holy moly, he had definitely been working out.

His eyes, though, were the same as they always had been. They were the eyes I had known back in high school, alight and smoldering all at the same time. They were bottomless; they held my gaze even when I really wanted to look away. They were the gateway to his soul, to everything he was feeling. Eli had always been good at hiding things – emotions, truths, what have you. But to someone who knew him, who knew his eyes…someone like me…I knew better. Eli was just as nervous as I was. He was just as hurt as I was.

And eventually, I discovered that he wanted me as much as I wanted him. Somehow, he had convinced me to come over to his place. To hang out, to catch up…but we both knew it was coming. Rain fell from the sky and when we got to his apartment complex we ran through it. We tripped and stumbled and fell against his door laughing. And when that finally subsided, there was him, and there was me, and there were our lips and our mingling breaths and the oppressive weight of the past.

The rest is sort of history.

We're kissing furiously, and his warm hands are all over my body, peeling off my wet shirt, touching me, setting me on fire. I'm pressed against his bathroom wall, trying to breathe, trying to think, but I can't form anything coherent. I let out a frustrated, sexually charged moan, and Eli bites my lip as I grab at his chest. I want to push him away and pull him closer at the same time, because he's _intoxicating_ me. I feel vulnerable and angry and fuck, how did I even get here? I'm not supposed to be here, not supposed to be kissing him. Not him. I was done with him. I am done with him. I left this – this thing, this uncertainty, this mind-clouding, tangled heap of emotions back in high school along with his lips and his tongue and his goddamn body pressed so tightly against mine that I might cry if he ever lets go. This is not me, not now, not ever. Not again. It can't be, because I can't afford to relive this. I feel it in the pit of my soul, and each kiss is branded there, searing me. My fingers are shaking as they wind their way into his wet hair, and I ponder how I'm capable of feeling this much.

"I hate you," I breathe into him, because I'm angry that I don't want to stop. I'm angry at myself for giving in and I'm angry at him for initiating this. We haven't spoken in years, and I'm so fucking angry that not a thing has changed.

My sentence only eggs him on, and he's kissing my neck, my shoulder, my chest. He peels my bra down and it's gone in a flash, and _oh god_ his lips feel incredible there, warm against my cold, moist skin. His hands work on tugging my jeans down and I just want his shirt off but I've forgotten how to say anything that doesn't involve the words "fuck me" or "I hate you". I'm torn and I'm horny and I'm still so angry, but I've given in. I've surrendered to this man's touch, and his heart by default. Because with Eli Goldsworthy, it's everything or it's nothing. Even if it's just for the night, for the hour, for the minute – every second I spend with him is honest and real and raw.

"Well, I love you," he finally says, and his voice is low and husky and I feel my face warm as he cradles my breasts in his palms.

"I can't believe this is happening," I say, bewildered, and mostly to myself, but it draws a chuckle from Eli anyway. "What am I doing?"

"Giving into what you want," he replies, and kisses my neck repeatedly as I undo the buttons on his soaking wet button down. I don't respond, because I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that this scenario has been playing in my mind since the very last day I saw him. His hands push my jeans and underwear down my hips and I shimmy them off, and our lips meet again. My head is spinning and my heart is fluttering as he traces my hip bones and his fingers brush closer to where I want them most. He's infuriating and sexy and everything I want and everything I despise.

"I hate that you make me feel this way," I pant, and I can feel my resolve slipping, because I don't hate him. I hate myself for loving him and I hate that the thought of anyone else having this man makes my blood boil, even after all this time.

"I love that I know I'm the only one who can," he grunts, slipping his fingers inside of me and oh god, oh fucking god, _yes._ I let out a moan and he kisses me again feverishly. My anger is dissipating with every movement, every breath, every kiss.

"I'm cold," I mumble through my trembling lips, because I am. The tile is ice against my back and it's disturbingly cool in Eli's apartment.

"Shower," he says, and when he pulls away from me, my knees almost buckle. I watch him through lidded eyes as he discards his shirt and his own pants, and I can't tear my eyes away from every inch of skin he exposes.

"Mm, we're already wet enough," I say, but he ignores me, and I don't protest when he kisses me again. And then somehow he's picking me up and carrying me to his shower, and the cold water hits my back and makes me yelp and smack Eli's chest when he smiles at me deviously. "You're an ass," I mutter but I don't want to talk anymore, and as the shower water heats up all I want to do is feel him, all of him. He comes closer to me and my back is against a wall again, only this time when his hips press into me I feel him in his entirety and my head tilts back in anticipation for what is about to come.

"You've done this before, haven't?" He asks solemnly, and he seems so sure of my answer that I almost want to lie. "You've…"

"Had sex?" I laugh bitterly. "Yes. But what did you expect after you left me? I was vulnerable, you were gone, and any hopes I had of ever finding someone else who I wanted to marry pretty much flew out the window. So it happened. And I hated every minute of it and every time after that, but I kept going back." I shove Eli's chest and he takes a step back. I'm angry again, so angry, so fucking angry that he even has the _nerve._ "Is that what you want to hear, Eli? That I gave it up to someone else but to this day I still regret it wasn't you? That I was hung up on you for years after? That yeah, I'm still as pathetic as you remember me to be? Well congratulations."

I step out of the shower and grab a towel angrily wrapping it around myself but unsure of where to go. What have I done? What was I thinking? Yeah, not a thing has changed. Oh god, oh god, what have I done. Who am I? Who is this person standing in Eli's apartment, remembering that I promised I'd never, ever be _that_ girl?

"Clare." I feel him touch my shoulder and jerk away, repulsed.

"Don't touch me."

"You didn't seem to mind a minute ago," he snarls, and I almost burst.

"You think you have the right to be angry, Eli?" I demand, spinning around. He hasn't covered himself and I hate that a flush rises to my face, a mix of anger and embarrassment. "You think that after all of these years, YOU have the right to be mad at _me_? For what? For trying to move on? You left!" I cried, on the verge of tears.

"I've regretted that every goddamn day of my life!" He yells back. His jaw tightens and he looks at the ground.

"Could have fooled me," I whisper. "I know you resented me for leaving you that night in the hospital. Even after you forgave me, even after you said you understood and that anyone would have done the same – you never forgave me. You still don't."

He won't look at me.

"But I don't understand why you're any better. Because as much as you needed me that night…I needed you then. And I thought that…that after all we had been through, you were in it for the long haul. I didn't know we were tempor—"

"I never planned for that day to go how it did, Clare. But you were slipping away. I wasn't right, I couldn't focus at school, and I never got any sleep. I was better, but I was still sick. I will always be sick. I did what I did because I thought it was best for you, and I knew it was best for me. And you're wrong, you know. I have never resented you since that day. Because I finally understood that as much as it had hurt me when you left, it hurt you too." He's desperate, and his eyes are pleading, and we both know it isn't about sex anymore. It's not about my virginity or the heat of the moment or the fact that we're both still pretty naked. It's about every moment of pain, of sacrifice, every moment of our past. It's about what's pooling in my heart, in my stomach, warming my body. "It hurt you too, and I know that…because as soon as I saw your face crumple, as soon as I saw the light in your eyes burn out, I lost the ability to function. I didn't get out of bed for a week. I was a fucking mess."

Tears are streaming down my face, and I blink up at the white ceiling. "You can't just run away, Eli. You can't just sever ties when things get tough and expect them to ever be whole again. You can't expect me to love you anymore. You can't—"

He cuts me off again, but this time it's with a kiss. And it's not fast, or particularly intense, or driven by the hormonal, animalistic lust that had consumed us prior. It's sweet and thoughtful and deep, and it takes my breath away. I feel it all the way down to my toes.

"Tell me that you're not in love with me anymore, and I'll leave you alone," he says, and he kisses me when I try to protest his statement. My mind is hazy because these kisses are different and better than anything I have ever experienced. "I want you to say it, word for word, and I will let you walk into the world and I will never complicate your life again. I will never contact you, and if I ever happen to see you in a little coffee shop somewhere in Toronto" – _kiss – "_I will look the other way."

"Eli…"

"No, say it. 'I'm not in love with you anymore.'"

"I…"

"They're simple fucking words, Clare." He brushes the tears from my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, cradling my face.

"I love you," I gasp, because god, it's true. I do love him. Even if I'm angry at him – so angry, so hurt, so terribly confused…I love him to death and that hasn't changed since the moment I first realized it.

"Then that's all we need."

"That's irrational," I breathe. "We need more than love. Relationships take work, Eli. Friendships take work. Not this, not sudden," passionate…hot…desperate… "not sudden, hormone driven…" I gulp. "We can't fix everything this way."

"I just need you, Clare. All of you. Of course it's going to take work. Of course I'm willing to go through all of it, I'm willing to earn back your trust and discover you all over again. But I love you, and you love me, and that is where it starts."

He embraces me then, his arms wrapping around me tightly, and he whispers the words that I know we both need to say.

"I'm sorry."

Yes. This is where it starts.

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**A/N: **Oooh, I'm so mean, I know! This isn't hot Eclare sex, is it Zoey? (; Don't worry – two shot, my dears. I think I can manage that. Should be updated fairly soon. It will explain a lot and give the vague back story a more vivid outline. And yes, you get your Eclare sex, too. So stay tuned. Reviews/alerts/favorites mean the world!


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